


CHRONOPHOBIA

by icantwritelmao



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Panic Attacks, Papyrus Has Issues, Papyrus-centric, i do not know how to write in general, i do not know how to write panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritelmao/pseuds/icantwritelmao
Summary: They got a new clock for the living room.Papyrus hates it.





	CHRONOPHOBIA

**Author's Note:**

> this account is dead, sorry  
> decided to revive it with this thing i wrote last night and revised today  
> its kinda short but it wasn't meant to be long, i was intending on writing more anyway  
> if you catch any weirdly worded parts or just typos i missed go ahead and tell me

They got a new clock on the surface. Toriel picked it out.  
It's an old, big, wooden clock. In the middle of the living room in their shared house.  
Everybody liked it, they said the ticking was relaxing or something. _Everybody liked it, it's_ _relaxing_.  
But Papyrus hasn't been able to relax in the slightest.

He just couldn't sit in the living room, with that god forsaken clock, without losing his mind. He _hates_ it.  
So he clumsily excused himself and practically ran to his room, put a pillow over his head and desperately tried to focus on anything else.  
But it just _wouldn't go away_. That ticking forces it's way into his skull and reverberates around endlessly until he has a headache.  
That clock was so loud. It was so _fucking loud_ and he _can't breathe_ ; He's choking on air and sobbing pathetically into his bed sheets.

His world is rotating along with the clock hand, each tick and tock taking any air he's managed to inhale straight out of his body.  
It's so loud, so, _so loud_. And it's so fast, it's all so _fast_ and _loud_ and he _hates it_. He hates it _so much_.

Time is passing, counting down to something he knows nothing about, but he's acutely aware that it's coming and _he can't stop it_.  
Everything is slipping through his fingers, everything they've worked towards will become absolutely meaningless and he is _terrified_.  
He'll be forgotten, and that thought makes another painful sob shutter out of his body.

Everything is blacking out around him, and suddenly he's not in a bed anymore, instead there's sand falling on him and he's trapped in an hourglass. It gets in his clothes, his joints, his _everything_ and he's _suffocating_ in it. He can't _move_ , he can't _fight_ and _he's going to **die**._

His vision fades and flickers with muffled shouting coming from somewhere around him. And the ticking counts down to his final breath.

He exhales; The clock stops.


End file.
